


Unfiltered

by Starlinghue



Category: Batman/Superman (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bar fights, Coming Out, Confessions, M/M, Pining, Random Acts of Heroism, Slice of Life, Speeding in Sportscars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlinghue/pseuds/Starlinghue
Summary: Caught in the tricky balancing act of  university classes and caped crusading, Jon rarely feels like he has time to just be himself. A trip to Gotham and a visit with his childhood best friend might be just the refresher he needs.





	Unfiltered

**Author's Note:**

> So a few months ago, I wrote an aged up Damian and Jon drabble about them being roommates as young adults. This is a pseudo, better version of that (without the roommate setup) because I felt like I hadn't really explored their relationship enough, or how it would age. I want to stress clearly that it is aged— Jon's 19 and Damian's around 22 in this fic. Really, I just wanted to write about the melodrama of a young hero without the tights. Hope you all enjoy!

_"And in today's news, Superman has saved at least eighty victims of the earthquake in Taiwan from a collapsing building. Another heroic display from Metropolis' very own Man of Steel, who not only recovered every injured person from inside the wreckage, but reached the disaster before any of the dispatched relief teams. It just goes to show that Superman still has global reach—"_

Jon finally tore his eyes away from the little T.V above the bar, looking back to his date, Kevin. He was in Jon's Restorative Ecology class, and though they had only spoken a few times, when he asked Jon out, it had been a pleasant surprise. Jon had been looking forward to it all week, and he felt guilty for getting distracted by the T.V, but luckily, Kevin was also gazing over his shoulder at the Metropolis News program. Unluckily, he seemed rather unimpressed by the report.

"Not a fan of Superman?" Jon asked, in a careful effort to sound nonchalant about the subject. He had heard plenty of criticisms over the Man of Steel in his lifetime, but that didn't mean that they still didn't annoy him.

"Huh? Oh, no, it's not that." Kevin turned back, smiling. He had great teeth, and a nice shock of blonde hair. His blue-rimmed glasses were crooked, and Jon reflexively reached up to adjust his own. "It's just, I can't remember life without Superman in it. Like, he's just always there."

"Well, he started showing up before we were born, right?" Jon shrugged, trying to focus on his food. He'd ordered nachos, and the cheese was a bit thicker than he normally liked.

"Yeah, but it's weird, you know? Thinking of a world where he wasn't always around, saving the day." Kevin was frowning now, like he was deep in thought. "There's all those other heroes, too, and the whole Super family of aliens. Don't you think that we, as a human society, have grown too dependent on them cleaning up our messes?"

Jon looked away from his face, and tried to bring his attention back to his food. He shrugged again, fighting the frustration he felt bubbling up inside him. "So you think it's bad to rely on them for help? Even when they're out there risking their lives to protect us?"

"I didn't say _that_." Kevin shook his head, and then took a bite of his burger. With his mouth full of lettuce and tomatoes, he added, "I just think it's a bit stagnating for human development to rely on a bunch of aliens."

Not bothering to grace him with a response, Jon ate his nachos in a huff. The rest of the date was a bust, no matter how many times the two of them tried to salvage the chemistry, Jon couldn't stop thinking about what he said, and eventually he gave up on the niceties. They awkwardly left the restaurant together, and then headed in separate directions.

After about twenty minutes of walking, Jon realized that he had wandered all the way to the north side of the city without thinking about much of anything except punching Kevin in the gut. His dad would hate that, if he ever found out.

 _"Jonathan."_ He would say his name like it was the thing that had disappointed him most. All three syllables.

Once, Jon had punched a kid in his elementary school for saying Superman was a government hoax. With no control over his strength, Jon had ended up breaking the kid's jaw. His father picked him up from the principal's office that day with the worst expression Jonathan had ever seen on his face. It was the only time Jon had ever been scared of him. Remembering it made his stomach drop.

Ever since then, Jon had tried his hardest to avoid punching people who weren't inherently evil. Still, he couldn't help _thinking_ about it. Most people would want to punch someone if they had just insulted their entire family.

"Look! It's Superman!" A voice from a nearby group of tourist gawked, and Jon glanced at the sky out of habit. Most people who had grown up in Metropolis didn't bother looking up anymore.

Sure enough, a flash of bright blue and red hurtled over the skyscrapers, barreling in the direction of the Daily Planet building. Jon guessed his dad was going back to work.

His phone buzzed in his pocket a few seconds later, and it didn't surprise Jon at all when he saw it was Superman himself who had texted.

_Just passed over you in uptown. No class today?_

Rolling his eyes, Jon texted back.

_No, Dad. Was hanging out with friends. Think I might go for a walk now._

'Going for a walk' was the Kent family code for 'Going to flying around the country until my head goes numb.' Jon shoved his phone back in his jeans and walked until he found the nearest alley, which he promptly ducked into.

It was only then Jon remembered that he hadn't been flying for fun much since the start of second term. The homework and the socializing had really put a pause on Jon's heroic side duties, but it wasn't like he was sorely missed or anything. There was an influx of heroes, and Jon had a life to live. A human life.

Closing his eyes, Jon drew in a deep breath and waited. He waited to feel his own power course through him, and for the muscle he felt like he was always holding in a tight knot to unclench. While he waited, he took off his glasses and tucked them away in his shirt pocket. He then felt his body shift, his muscles tightening and relaxing all at once. 

And then he was going up.

His dad, Aunt Kara, and even Kon always said that flying felt like taking one big jump (though in Kon's case, that was true), and that you were just waiting for the landing, no matter how long you were in the air. However, since Jon had been able to use the power, it felt more like he was floating, like he was a balloon full of air. It had been ridiculously hard to control at first— he kept knocking into the walls and ceiling. Once he had floated up into the open air, and he had been afraid he was going to tumble out into space.

But now, Jon could easily just let himself drift up, and stop when he wanted to. He shot upwards as fast as he could; he wasn't in costume and his Mom would flip if anyone saw him. Eventually, Jon thought he was high enough that he knew no one would be able to recognize him, so he pressed forwards instead of up. For a few minutes, he sped through the air with no set destination, enjoying the cool breeze in his face. It was only until the dark skyline of another city came into the view below that Jon realized where he had been heading all along.

Gotham. He wanted to see Damian.

 

\---

 

Even though Wayne manor had a home gym, Damian preferred doing his exercise in the cave. The air was cool and the darkness was familiar. He had trained in the shadows (both literal and figurative) his whole life, so it was almost comforting.

His father was currently in California (albeit begrudgingly) for a business retreat. Bruce Wayne had to poke his head out of the woodwork every couple of months before anyone got too curious about him. On this trip, he would smile and dazzle a few reporters, pose for the paparazzi, and maybe even meet some new investors. He did this to keep the press at bay and give his company a charming face. Damian had also come to learn that these ventures were one of the only ways to tear Bruce away from his nightly activities, so he was grateful for the empty mansion as long as it meant that his father was getting some well deserved rest.

Even though Bruce wasn't as young as he used to be, he still had Damian beat in personal training. Damian was in the midst of trying to beat his father's latest record in weight lifting sets when he heard Alfred's voice buzzing over the intercom.

"Sir? There's a visitor for you."

Sighing, Damian put the rather large barbell he was holding back down. He stretched his arms while making his way over to the comm. "I'm not expecting anyone. Who is it?"

"The young Kryptonian. He didn't even bother coming in the front door, he's just gone to float outside your bloody window."

"I'll be right up," Damian muttered, feeling uneasy. It wasn't like Jon to make house calls.

Alfred used to be quite fond of Jon, but since puberty, he had lost some of the boyish charm that used to tide over his stubbornness. He also happened to have a rather relaxed approach to his powers that tended to set Alfred's teeth on edge. _The young Kryptonian_ was a new one.

Really, stranger things had happened at the manor. A young man floating outside a window was almost considered normal. And who was going to see them when they lived so far from the main city, anyway?

Damian passed Alfred on his way up the stairs, and the old butler sent him a disparaging look. He hated it when Damian cooped himself down in the cave if Bruce left him home alone. Said it gave him a horrible sense of déjà-vu.

Jon was standing on the balcony railing when Damian finally reached his rooms— oh yes, plural. He would have taken over a whole wing of the mansion if Tim hadn't been such a bitch about it. Before Damian could reach the balcony, however, Jon heard him coming and flew to the nearest window. His hair was getting long, almost to his shoulders, and the wind had it whipping around his face. His is cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and he offered Damian a shy smile as he drew closer. 

He wasn't in costume. Damian raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hey!" Jon tapped on the glass, almost like he was talking to a fish at an aquarium.

Relenting, Damian unlocked the window and pulled it open. Jon stuck his upper body in first, getting right up in Damian's personal space and grinning like an idiot before he tripped in mid air and sort of somersaulted to the floor.

"Be careful!" Alfred snapped from a few floors below them, and Jon winced.

"What are you doing here?" Damian asked, standing over Jon's crumpled form. He didn't bother helping him up, so Jon floated back to his feet almost lazily. It was a waste of power.

"I came to see you," Jon shrugged, as he often did instead of speaking his mind, and then he rubbed his neck. A sheepish habit he'd picked up from his country bumpkin father, no doubt.

"You look... upset." Damian frowned, because he hated it when Jon was upset. 

As a child, Jon used to be so vocal about his misery, but over the years of knowing him, Damian had now come to recognize the telltale signs with only a glance. The pout. The long looks at the floor. The way he curled his fingers. It was all very annoying, and Damian never knew what to say.

Jon brought out that signature pout, then, and he let out a kind of exasperated grunt. "Bad date."

"Oh," said Damian, who could work with that. His father complained about dates all the time, Damian was a pro at empathetic nodding.

"He didn't like heroes," Jon laughed, but it was more frustrated than amused. "What kind of person doesn't like heroes?!"

"Apparently, the kind you agree to go out with." Damian quipped, because he couldn't help it, and Jon glared at him.

"You're sweaty," Jon huffed, and Damian was grateful for the change of subject. "Were you training?"

"Yes, but I was nearly done anyway. My triceps need a break." Damian glanced at his reflection in the vanity mirror at the other side of the room. His arm muscles had gotten a bit more defined, and he could see his abs peaking out from under his shirt. He was keeping in good shape.

Jonathan made a thoughtful humming noise, and it was a bit infuriating for Damian that from this angle, the mirror only caught below Jon's chin in its reflection. He was almost a whole head taller than Damian, now, and it never failed to piss him off.

"Go take a shower, you stink." Jon sniffed, and then he floated over towards Damian's bookshelf. The first time Jon had ever been in his room(s), he had gone absolutely crazy over Damian's encyclopedia collection. 

With great disdain for his friend's manners, Damian made his way towards the bathroom. His annoyance towards Jon's utter lack of tact lessened considerably when he saw that he had settled in his armchair, a big encyclopedia on tropical birds open in his lap, and happiness slowly creeping back into his face.

"Idiot," Damian mumbled, and he couldn't keep the fondness out of his voice.

 

\---

 

Zebra Finches were awfully cute. Jon stared at the picture of the little bird longingly, wishing he could give the real thing a pat on the head. Maybe he could fly down to Australia and go look for one, someday. 

From a few rooms over, he could hear Damian in the shower. Trying to block out the sound of his breath, his heartbeat, Jon tapped his fingers on the cover of the encyclopedia in a steady beat. He hadn't been expecting it; Damian, in his expensive track pants, and a tight undershirt that rode up a little too high on his waist, just enough to show his lower stomach. Not to mention that he was all sweaty, and the smell of his skin was so overwhelming that Jon might've passed out. 

That asshole had no right to look so good, to stand there with his hands on his hips, a few strands of his normally perfectly sleeked back hair falling in his face. He was just too much for Jon. He had always been too much.

Until he was about fifteen, Jon just assumed that Damian was the most annoying person on the planet. His arch rival, of sorts, but not his mortal enemy. The two of them were constantly competing, even when they were working together. They shoved each other a lot for the first few years, settling petty arguments with fist fights and screaming matches. (Alfred and their parents pulled them apart more than a few times.)

It was only natural that Jon thought about Damian almost constantly. He was just so fed up with being teammates with someone so incredibly selfish and snobby. At least, that was what he thought. Then, out of nowhere, Jon started to realize maybe he was obsessed with Damian for different reasons.

Like, the fact that he had the knowledge of more than two University doctorates, and that he could confidently drive a motorcycle at age thirteen. Or the way he would readily sacrifice himself if it meant upholding his sense of justice, and even if it was in a fight that seemed hopeless, he never gave up. There were also the other things Jon thought about, things that weren't just cool, heroic stuff. Like the way Damian took care of his nails so they didn't chip or get too dirty. Or the little curses he muttered in foreign languages when he got pissed off. Then there was the timid smile that crossed over his face when he was happy, like, really genuinely happy and not just being a conniving little shit. And the muscles on his back, already so defined when they were only teenagers. The feeling of his hands, rough and square on Jon's shoulders. The way his eyes crinkled up when he laughed...

Jon could write a book on Damian's eyes alone. They were narrow, almond shaped and slanted towards his nose. He had a monolid, which made the thick arch of his eyebrows stand out even more against his sharp face. Then there was the colour, a bright hazle-green that was nearly grey. Jon usually had to fight the urge to stare at them, as they were the brightest part of Damian's face.

Which was, of course, one of the reasons why Jon was so colossally fucked. 

After all, being in love with the closest thing you have to a best friend is a dangerous game to play when you're a _normal_ person. Imagine how Jon felt, him being an alien half-breed with one foot in the closet.

 _"Don't call yourself a half-breed."_ Kon's stern voice sounded in his head. _"At least you aren't an illegitimate clone."_

Obviously, Jon's life was messed up enough without the unnecessary romantic drama.

The sound of running water stopped abruptly, and Jon tried to chase any lingering thoughts about Damian out of his head, doing his best to ignore the fact that he was naked and and soaked a few walls away. He absolutely hated that a tiny, hormone driven part of him considered using his x-ray vision to sneak a peek.

As it would turn out, he didn't even need to use his powers, because Damian wandered back into the room with nothing but a snug, grey towel around his waist, his hair still dripping wet. Jon swore that he was trying to kill him. (Damian _had_ tried to kill him, once. He was being mind controlled. The only way to stop him was to break his leg, rendering him immobile until the control wore off. Jon still felt guilty about it.)

"You clearly didn't show up to go on patrol," muttered Damian, who had nonchalantly begun to browse through his walk-in closet. He seemed completely unperturbed by the fact Jon was ogling him, raking his eyes over every scar, every muscle. "And since I'm not a very good shoulder to cry on, I can't really fathom why you'd come to me for comfort."

"I just..." Jon started to say but he lost his words when Damian turned back to face him. His arms and chest were truly a work of art. "I don't know why I'm here, either."

Damian closed his eyes and furrowed his perfect eyebrows. "Well, we may as well make a night out of it. Father left me the keys to the Jag."

Jon laughed, surprised by the offer. "Wow, okay. I can't actually remember— When was the last time we really hung out?"

Damian sort of grinned, "Not counting last month?"

(Bank robbery. They took out a ten man team without breaking a sweat, and recovered the stolen money from the previous heists within the hour.)

"Crime fighting doesn't count. I think it was right after my senior prom," Jon mused, "Remember? You picked me up because I got smashed, and then I tried to convince you to buy me an island."

"Right, you wanted a Fortress of Solid-Dudes."

"Oh shit, did I actually call it that?"

"Yes, you were really drunk." Damian smirked, then he finally put a shirt on and ended Jon's misery. It was a black turtleneck, cashmere.

"You dress like your dad."

Damian rolled his eyes, "And you dress like your mother, it's nothing new."

Jon looked away while Damian changed into his pants, willing his senses to dull down. He couldn't keep letting himself get drawn in by Damian's every breath. When he finally looked back, Damian was garbed in an expensive pair of navy blue jeans, and was ruffling the towel around his hair.

"Do I really dress like my mom?" Jon asked, getting to his feet and looking over his own outfit. A pastel pink polo shirt with light blue stripes, and some black khakis. It was a far cry from his mother's pantsuits, but as far as her casual attire went, Damian had a point.

"She's much more fashionable than your father, take it as a compliment." Damian scoffed, pulling the towel away from his hair, which was now sticking out at all angles. Jon couldn't help giggling at him. Ignoring Jon entirely, Damian smoothed out his hair, acting like he wasn't the most adorable thing in the room.

"Will Alfred mind?" Jon asked as they headed for the stairs. "I feel bad leaving him alone in this big, empty house."

"Please," Damian barked out a laugh, "Alfred loves it when we're all out of his hair— or, lack of it."

Jon smothered his own laughter, "What are the others up to?" 

_The others._ Damian didn't like referring to his foster siblings as his actual family, and Jon never understood why. His best guest was Damian was just being a brat to get his father's attention at first, but now so many years had gone by that it had become a sort of running gag. Or too awkward to take it back.

"Richard and Barbara are on vacation, Tim's at school, and I'm not sure what Jason's doing, he's been gone for months." Damian glanced over his shoulder, squinting at Jon like he might know something about it. "And what about you? How's the Brady Bunch?"

"What a topical reference," Jon mocked Damian's tone, "But we're alright. Kon came to visit, last week."

At this point they had reached the kitchen, and Damian grabbed a couple of mini-muffins that were sitting on a plate at the breakfast bar. 

"Is he still on that journey of self discovery?" He asked, tossing one of the muffins to Jon, which he caught with ease.

"If you mean to ask if he's still barreling solo across the world doing hero work, then yeah." Jon took a thoughtful bite out of the muffin and then gave a hum of delight. "Banana and chocolate chip? Alfred spoils you."

"You know, I'd never even eaten a muffin before I came to America." Damian said, his mouth full of crumbs. "Now I'm addicted."

Jon laughed again and his whole body felt lighter than it had all day. This was why he came to Gotham, this warm, fluttering feeling in his chest. He watched Damian's back as the made their way to the garage, unabashedly staring at him, taking him all in. His consolation prize to having unrequited feelings is that he got to stare as much as he wanted.

And what Damian didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?

 

\---

 

The purr of the engine was barely audible over Jon's peels of nervous laughter, and Damian promptly weighed his foot down on the gas. They roared in circles around the yards a few times, mostly because Jon wanted to get a look at the stables. Damian didn't stop the car, but he did slow down as they neared the barn, letting Jon get more than a glimpse.

The horses were the Kent's favorite part of the estate. Damian recalled his father saying that Clark even wanted to sleep in the stables, once, when the League was holed up at Wayne manor because of some mission. Said the mansion was too stuffy.

"We don't have horses at our farm. My grandparents had two when Dad was younger, but once they died, Grandma didn't have the heart to get new ones." Jon had explained to Damian when they were just starting to become friends, and Bruce had offered to give him some equestrian lessons. (Jon was horrible at riding; he clung to the horse all wrong, and he flinched at every bump in the road or twitch the animal made.) 

Still, Jon loved petting the horses, and tried to visit them every time he was at the manor.

"You can chat with them later, okay?" Damian sighed when Jon frowned at him for exiting onto the main road.

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever the night takes us."

Jon raised an eyebrow, "You're not wearing _your_ costume, are you?"

"You saw me change."

"Oh," Jon's cheeks turned a delightful shade of crimson, "Right."

The poor guy was so transparent. Damian wondered how no one had caught on that he was a superhero, yet. He also wondered how long it would take for Jon to man up and tell him he had feelings for him.

He came out to Damian when he was seventeen, just before Damian's twentieth birthday. It had obviously taken a lot of courage and thought for Jon to tell him, as he practically blurted it out seconds after a particularly heated battle with some robots. (They won, of course.)

 _"So what if you are? Did you really think that I would care? You're still an idiot."_ Damian had rolled his eyes at the time, because he had already guessed Jon wasn't into girls, and didn't see why Jon was treating it like it was such a big deal.

But it was a big deal. At least, it was big enough for Jon that it warranted him crying like an infant, sobbing hard into Damian's shoulder and absolutely ruining a cape that had already been torn and dirtied.

"Have you told your parents, yet?" Damian asked now, two years later, with Jon staring damn near wistfully out the passenger side window.

"Nope," Jon mumbled, "I chicken out every time I even try."

Damian spared a glance at him, feeling almost sorry for bringing it up. "You know it won't change anything."

"I know it _shouldn't_ change anything. But it might. And that's what terrifies me." Jon confessed, and then he buried his face in his hands, digging his fingers through his hair. He did that a lot when he was upset, and Damian wondered if that was why he kept his hair so long.

"Hey," Damian nudged him with his elbow. "No moping in the Jag."

"Sorry," Jon sighed, peeking through his fingers. "It's a mopey kind of day."

Damian wished he had powers. He wished he could fly Jon away, and take him someplace where he didn't have to think about everything that could go wrong in his life. So Damian did the closest thing to that as he could, speeding the car down the hillside, driving wildly and freely. Jon let out a whooping yelp of surprise, but it quickly changed to laughter as they went charging into the city.

"Don't crash!" Jon exclaimed, his voice shrill with laughter. "Don't crash! Don't crash! Don't crash!"

Zig-zagging between cars, Damian listened to Jon repeatedly yell and laugh in his ear while they definitely violated a few major traffic laws. They kept their vicious speed all the way into the heart of the city. It had been worth the crime, Damian conceded, after having made Jon so happy, distracting him from all his burdens, if only a little.

"Do you do this a lot?" Jon asked when they were at a stoplight, and Damian could finally look at him. He was grinning from ear to ear, just as Damian had hoped.

"No, never." Damian smirked, "It's more entertaining when there's an audience."

Jon covered his mouth with his hand, scoffing. "Next time you _borrow_ the Batmobile, text me!"

"Noted," said Damian, and then the light went green, and they were off once again.

When they finally stopped, it was at one of the few bars in town that Damian had never caught a secret crime ring hiding out in. For a Friday night, the place wasn't too crowded, and he could hear Jon's stomach rumbling for the past quarter mile.

"It seems nice enough," Jon observed as they parked the Jag out on the street. "They're playing 80s music."

"Anything I'd know?"

" _Everybody Wants to Rule the World._ A bit ironic, huh?"

Damian scrunched up his nose, "This is the punchline to some dry 'two superheroes walk into a bar' joke out there."

As they made their way inside, Damian found himself unimpressed by the interior design of the place. It had some weird Neon-Noir aesthetic going, and the dim blue and red lighting made his eyes ache. Jon seemed nonplussed by it all, and headed straight for the bar to look at the menu.

Barely five minutes had passed between ordering their food (a burger and fries, respectively) when Damian noticed Jon tense up.

"What?" He asked, but Jon was already turning around, looking towards the far corner of the bar.

A man and a woman were arguing. The woman was trying to walk past him, but he had her backed up against the wall. There was a sickeningly smarmy look on his face. The woman looked scared. The man was touching her leg.

"I'm going over there." Jon hissed, his eyes glowing red. Literally. Damian could feel the heat pooling from them.

"Hey," Damian murmured, and he set his hand on Jon's chest, holding him in place. Jon could've broken away easily, but thankfully, he stayed rooted to the spot. "You're getting too worked up."

When he turned to look down at him, in that moment, Jon seemed almost inhuman, his eyes like open flames. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten like this— it was always there, under the surface. Jon was like a great big bomb of raw energy, and he was just waiting for a chance to explode. In battle, it was an asset. In society, it was exhausting.

Without thinking, Damian moved his hand from Jon's chest to his cheek. A flicker of surprise crossed Jon's face before he leaned into the touch, and his eyes faded back to blue.

"I'll handle this," Damian promised, and then he pulled away before Jon could react.

It took seven paces for him to make his way to the grease stain at the other side of the room. The man barely looked up when Damian cleared his throat, but the woman shot him a look of relief. She had obviously never had a moment of confrontation in her life.

Almost bored with this turn of events, but wanting to help anyway, Damian tapped the man on the shoulder, and he turned around gruffly. "What?"

Deciding he wasn't worth a verbal response, Damian promptly punched him in the face. It wasn't a clean hit, given the angle they were facing each other, but the force of it sent the man toppling backwards into a table, knocking it over, and breaking several glasses.

"Shit!" The man coughed, "You broke my fucking nose!"

Annoyed, Damian wandered over and kicked him in the head, knocking him unconscious. A few of the bar's patrons gasped. Someone even screamed.

There was fresh blood on Damian's new leather oxfords.

And then Jon was there, too quick, his arm right up against Damian's back. His face was so close to Damian's ear that he could feel his breath while he spoke. "We have to go."

"Right," Damian almost laughed, because he had forgotten that he was from a celebrity family, and that someone might recognize him.

As they scrambled for the door, Damian tossed some of the loose bills in his jacket pocket towards the rather shaken bartender. Hopefully that would pay for the table, and the food they never got to eat.

"Have a nice night!" Jon called over their shoulders, and Damian finally let himself laugh.

 

\---

 

Jon wondered why he was so surprised they had just done that. Once, he and Damian had fought an army of aliens from another dimension. _Inter-dimensional aliens._ And yet, he was somehow more thrilled just from watching Damian punch some jackass out at a bar?

Life is funny that way.

The drive back to Wayne manor was much more tame than their roaring journey into the city. Damian obeyed all the rules of the road, and he even turned the stereo on. (Alfred kept all of the cars on Jazz radio.)

They were both quiet, too, and the silence might've even been comfortable. Unfortunately, Jon just couldn't stop thinking about what had happened right before Damian had punched that jerk. He had touched Jon's cheek to calm him down, in a way that was almost tender. It had been so surprising that Jon had forgotten all about the sleaze, he was just focused on Damian, and the cool, resolute look on his face.

There weren't many times Damian had ever been that soft with him. That kind of affectionate body language just wasn't in his nature— he hardly ever hugged his Dad, for heaven's sake. Jon was rightfully caught off guard by the whole exchange.

He ghosted a hand over his cheek, in the same spot where Damian had touched him. Damian's knuckles were red, and would probably bruise. The way he was holding the steering wheel so tightly, it was like it was almost supporting him. When Jon eventually chanced a look at Damian's face, his eyes were cast firmly on the road ahead.

"I had fun today!" Jon blurted out, loudly and suddenly, and Damian finally glanced his way.

"So you're not moping anymore?"

Relieved by his joking tone, Jon smiled. "No, I'm officially mope-free for the day."

"I'm glad," Damian sort of smiled, in his own crooked way. "It wasn't so bad. Being around each other outside of work."

"It feels like it's been forever," Jon sighed, "I remember when it felt like I saw you every day."

"It has been a while," Damian peeked at Jon again before looking back to the road. He seemed almost embarrassed. "I kind of missed you."

Heart leaping to his throat, Jon couldn't find the words to respond. Damian missed him. And he admitted it out loud.

"I kind of missed you, too." Jon said, and he didn't care if he was smiling like a moron, he was just so happy.

They stopped by the stables on the drive up to the house, and Jon's happiness expanded at the sight of the horses. His favorite, Nutmeg, was pregnant. Damian said she was due in two weeks.

"Can I name the baby?" Jon asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Only if it's a badass name."

"Okay... How about Thunderbolt?"

"Thunderbolt? Really?"

"Thunderbolt's badass."

Before Damian could reply, Jon felt his phone buzz in his pocket for the second time that day. Once again, it was from his Dad, asking if he would be home for dinner.

"I guess I should be getting back." Jon yawned and stretched, ready to take a long nap. "Better to fly home before sundown, anyway."

"Alright," Damian shuffled on his feet, looking deep in thought. When he met Jon's gaze, he was smiling lopsidedly again. "You can come back again whenever you like."

"Yeah?" Jon grinned, "Then I will."

And before he could embarrass himself any further, Jon kicked himself upwards and shot high into the air, his face flushed with warmth.

 

\---

 

Only two days had passed before Jon took Damian's offer to come back. This time, it was nearly midnight, and Damian was in his room, researching something for his home studies. 

When he heard a scratching sound by his window, Damian first wondered if it was a bat that had crashed into the glass. But then when he looked over, he spotted a pair of gleaming blue eyes in the darkness.

"You can use the front door," Damian greeted Jon with a frown, and the latter rolled through the open window a little more gracefully this time.

"I came out to my parents!" Jon said, and judging by the cheerful tone, the news had boded well. Of course it had, Damian never doubted the Kents would he anything less than overwhelmingly supportive.

"And?" Damian asked, waiting for Jon to land on his feet, as he was hovering mid air with his legs crossed, like it was comfortable. Was that comfortable? Surely not, there was no posterior support involved.

"They spent the whole day with me. I told them at breakfast and they told me it didn't change a thing, then Mom took the day off work and Dad did the same, and we just hung out together. We watched a movie, went shopping, and it was all normal. And they made sure I knew that it was all normal, you know?"

Damian could feel his relief, and he genuinely felt happy for him. "See? I told you nothing would change." 

"Yeah," Jon smiled, "You did."

"Now, would you please stop floating? I have to crane my neck to look at you." Damian crossed his arms, and Jon laughed.

"You always have to crane your neck to look at me," Jon teased, but he did as asked and touched down on the floor, right in Damian's personal space.

He was all shoulders, Damian noticed. Jon didn't have a particularly toned physique, in fact, he was rather lean. But his shoulders were broad, and they gave him this triangular figure that made him seem more imposing than he really was. All his strength was internal, really, in his blood.

And Damian _did_ have to tilt his head back to look him in the face. He was just too damn tall.

"So what brought you here? You could've just texted me." Damian asked, and Jon's smile went from cheerful to shy.

He ran his fingers through his ridiculously shaggy hair, "Well, I think I just wanted to see you? Again?"

Damian raised his brows, a silent encouragement for Jon to get it together. They were only a few inches apart. Any minute now.

"Okay, so, here's the thing..." Jon started to say, then he cut himself off with frustrated sighing noise. Damian said nothing, letting him take his time. "If I could tell my parents the truth, then I think it's only fair that I tell you, too."

"Alright," Damian spoke slowly, deliberately waiting for Jon to finally snap.

"I'm attracted to you!" Jon blubbered, with all the poise of a bull in a china shop. "There, God, I said it!"

Damian stayed quiet once again, enjoying the moment of validation. Jon's face was almost the colour of a peach, it had gone so pink.

"I know you're like, straight, or asexual or whatever. You don't owe me anything, obviously. But it was only fair to tell you." Jon stammered, nervously patting his hands against the sides of his legs like he didn't know what to do with them.

"I'm not asexual," Damian corrected him, "I'm just not fond of labels."

This time Jon didn't respond, he looked a bit too flabbergasted to manage speaking.

"Look," Damian sighed, "You're one of the few people in the world that I actually care about. And you're attractive, too, you moron."

Jon looked dizzy and confused, "You think I'm cute?"

"Yes, that ship sailed years ago." Damian scoffed, "The fact of the matter is, I think that this could work. Being more than friends. If you want to give it a go."

Jon was completely flustered, and it took some effort for Damian not to tease him for it. "Okay, yeah. Let's do it! I mean, not like that, but let's try dating. Maybe. Please?"

Damian laughed quietly, and he was still smiling at Jon when he stood on the tips of his toes to kiss him.


End file.
